


the next time

by dadvans



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadvans/pseuds/dadvans
Summary: Sid glances up at Geno from over the top of the bedside bronze picture frame, holding it in place with his thumb right next to Anna’s smiling face. The recognition sinks in and weighs him back down into the mattress. The pieces of a puzzle he’s avoided putting together have fallen into place.He’s beenfucking Geno Malkin’s wife.He justfucked Anna’s husband.:: or, Evgeni Malkin went first overall in the 2004 NHL draft, and Sid's heart is a traitor.
Relationships: Anna Kasterova/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Anna Kasterova, Sidney Crosby/Anna Kasterova/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 225
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	the next time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silkymittsmcgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkymittsmcgee/gifts).



Anna isn’t in town when the Pens roll into D.C. that November. Sid doesn’t blame her, and sends a “no worries” text with a heart emoji. She’s busy tanning herself down in Miami, probably with her husband, who Sid has imagined to be some fat, balding Russian oligarch with his fingers stuck in American business. Or maybe she’s the wife of a diplomat. They’ve never talked about it. Everything about their arrangement is too good to be true as-is, and in the year they’ve been fooling around, nothing has been serious enough that Sid would want to force her life into the privacy of his or take away the luxury of her own. 

The timing sucks for sure. He texts her again later that night when he’s nearing the end of his nightly routine, a little fuzzier behind the eyes from THC tincture Andy’s been testing out on him. 

**I’m in Florida next month. Are you still gonna be there?**

The text comes back surprisingly quick, followed by a picture. The texts reads: **For u I’ll wait** , punctuated by a double pink heart emoji. The picture is of Anna herself, eyes closed, lips pursed in a kiss, hair braided over her shoulder and lacy strap slipping down her arm. She’s in bed, but it looks empty from the angle. She looks perfect.

He goes to sleep with the memory of her face burned soft behind his eyelids. 

He wakes up focused. 

The rivalry against Washington has been tense in the years since Geno Malkin came over from the KHL after the last lockout. Every playoff round between them and the Pens has hit a game seven, and winning against them has been a rush unlike the Olympics, unlike any world stage. Losing against them has been in hard-fought losses that leave Sid almost too exhausted to be mad. Watching Geno knife through guys on his team is the closest anyone has come to stopping Sid in his tracks. More than once, Alex has slid up close to him on the bench and yelled in his ear, “ _yeah, Zhenya’s so hot tonight! Wow!_ ”

The Penguins eek out a win in overtime, four-to-three. Sid’s on the board with two assists, including the final feed to Alex to seal the deal. Washington officially hates them, and the one thing that Sid loves more than hockey is being hated for how good he is at hockey. 

He gives Alex the team helmet in the locker room after the win and knocks on it twice after Alex puts it on. Alex smiles up at him too big, tongue pressed against the gap in his teeth. He’s mostly annoying, but Sid can’t imagine playing with anyone else on his wing.

He turns to go back to his stall, but Alex catches him by his jersey. “Hey, no, no, you coming out tonight with us or what?” 

Alex always wants him to join in on the pseudo Team Russia festivities he gets up to whenever they’re in D.C., because Alex has a personality of a Golden Retriever. Sid kind of wishes he would invite literally anyone else. Sid doesn’t speak Russian, and these nights have a track record of him catching five percent of the conversation over dinner, politely nodding through most of whatever is being said, and then following the group to a night club, where--

“Last time you meet your girl, right?” Alex says, not letting go. “Maybe it’s good luck charm. She coming tonight?”

He had met Anna when he had been out with them, last season. He’d helped her look for an earring near the bathrooms, and the next morning Alex wouldn't stop hounding him about where he'd run off to until he finally admitted to meeting someone. He’s mentioned her a few times since then, usually as a way to get out of hanging out with Alex whenever they've been in D.C., and Alex is so excited to take credit for Sid getting laid that his feelings are never hurt.

“Yeah,” he says, because it’s true enough. “Well, yeah and no. She’s not home. Do you think those guys even want us out with them after out win?”

“Please Sid, let’s rub in their faces.” Alex looks downright puppydog, begging eyes, hitting Sid where it _really_ hurts, straight to the pettiest bone in his body. “You go, we give them shit all night.”

“Fuck, okay,” Sid replies, finally convinced. 

**I’m going out with my Russian friends tonight** , Sid texts Anna on his way back onto the bus, furious with himself about it.

 **They trick you get too drunk** , Anna writes back after he’s settled into his seat. It’s true enough, probably, but he can’t turn down the opportunity to gloat with Alex. 

**You’re probably right** , he replies. Whatever. He’ll get hot-faced and stupid, but they’ll barely notice, and he’ll just heckle them all night eating and drinking off their tab. They play New Jersey next. He’s been up against better teams with worse hangovers. There are worse things than nights out with the boys, and nights out with the boys are rare as they come already.

He meets Alex in the hotel lobby in his usual going-out outfit, black button up with black jeans and black oxfords. He got rejected from a club once several years ago for wearing golf shorts, and has since curated a universal Social look. This is the outfit he wore when Alex talked him into an underground drag race circuit, and this is the outfit he wore when Alex made them go to Waffle House after a win in Dallas. It’s the outfit he wore the night he met Anna, when she said, _thank you, stranger_ while dragging a finger down the center of his chest slowly, button to button. 

“This shirt again?” Alex asks, tugging at Sid’s collar helplessly. 

Sid bats him away. “You said last time was good luck, right?” 

“I have like, so many shirts, you can wear one, you wanna borrow one?” Alex is wearing purple and black paisley with a black tie, and he’s also wearing jeans that may have flirted with acid wash. He couldn’t pay Sid enough to wear his clothes.

Sid shrugs him off. “No. Is Kuznetsov picking us up, or what?” 

“Zhenya,” Alex replies with disdain, not bothering to look up from whoever he’s texting. “Kuzy drives like American, you know?”

Geno Malkin spins into the hotel roundabout in a sports car that can barely fit him, much less Sid and Alex, who are arguably as wide as he is tall. Sid’s never been able to adapt to how huge the guy is, and he plays on a line with Alex, who is a goddamn mack truck of a human being. The way Geno bends himself so precisely to fit in the driver’s seat is just as unexpected as how he cuts through guys clean on the ice. He’s easy to underestimate entirely, unpredictable. 

“We’re not gonna fucking fit in that,” Sid says, but he’s amused at the notion that anyone thought they could. 

Geno seems to disagree and impatiently rolls down the passenger side window. “Hurry up!” 

“Zhenya, your car is fucking tiny,” Alex says, hurrying toward him as the passenger side window rolls down. 

“Sid, you sit on him if he don’t fit in back!” Geno yells over Alex’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want to _kill_ him,” Sid says, strolling up behind Alex. “You sure you can fit us in this thing?” 

Geno shrugs and gestures for them both to get in anyway. Sid can’t help but laugh, squeezing in behind Alex. Nearly always, every time he’s been around Geno, he hasn’t been able to tell if things just get lost in translation, or if Geno is just naturally a huge fucking weirdo, unlike Alex who is constantly loud and intentional with everything he does and says; Geno’s endearing in a way that Sid can privately enjoy from a distance. 

Alex eventually squeezes himself into the back while Sid sits in the front, knees practically up to his chest. His thigh is taut against the gear shift and he can feel Alex’s knees in his back when Geno accelerates out of the parking lot. 

Sid only knows the Capital so well, and he always enjoys being taken somewhere foreign. They leave the familiar lights of Georgetown to a neighborhood unknown, a highway leading to another maze of office buildings and brownstones to where they’re meeting a quarter of a rival team for dinner. Street lamps pass over them yellow and orange, catching every odd angle and hollow of Geno’s face. 

Sid’s thankful for his vision--he can get away with looking too much without getting caught. He isn’t sure if it’s the constant exposure to Alex for the last decade, or if it’s genuinely Geno in and of himself, but the guy is hard to look away from in a way that has nothing to do with his nightmarish fashion sense. Geno doesn’t have the self-awareness that Alex did at nineteen when he showed up to his first practice in red skinny jeans, but he does have the same blind confidence that stems from not giving a fuck. It’s a Russian thing, Sid’s always kind of assumed. But outside of that, Geno is interesting to look at, and as long as Sid keeps him firmly in the corner of his eye, the looking is harmless. 

They arrive at the restaurant with the hazy quickness of falling into a dream. Alex wiggles the headrest obnoxiously while Geno is still trying to parallel park. Geno’s an even shittier driver than Alex, but there’s a thrill to that somehow. Sid tries to throw an elbow back between the seats at Alex, who is still shaking his seat like it’ll get Geno to park faster, and accidentally throws the car into another gear with his thigh. Geno doesn't even balk, knuckling past Sid’s muscle to re-grip the stick shift and move it back into gear.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. 

“No problem,” Geno replies, before saying something to Alex in Russian. 

“Zhenya will send you the bill for any scratch he finds,” Alex says. 

Sid snorts. “Hilarious. Sure, buddy, you do that.” 

Geno smiles to himself, because he does seem to really think he’s hilarious, and Sid is easily charmed enough to agree. The ridges of Geno’s big hands continue to dig into his thigh as he finishes parking, and when Sid can finally unbuckle his seatbelt and open the door, it feels like stumbling out of a clown car. Alex practically trips out after him, and Geno coolly walks by them both, grinning.

“Smiling a lot for a guy who lost in OT tonight,” Sid says, catching up to him in the restaurant, just in time for a table of Russian Caps to see them from the back and start booing loudly. 

“Sorry can’t hear you, they booing, what?” Geno replies, dismissing him completely to go sit down. Alex shakes Sid by the shoulders and pushes him forward to go join.

Sid actually likes the Russians and spending time with them, even if Alex has to goad him to join whenever they’re out here. The past years have seen a weird transition of room dynamics with their own team, and Sid misses those first few years in the league when his own team was merciless with their chirping and teasing. Alex tries to keep things light between them, tries to get the younger guys to take part in pranks on him or locker room razzing, but Alex has the A and Sid has the C, and that makes a world of a difference in some guys’ eyes on their team. 

It’s a different story with Washington though, especially with Alex’s friends, who only speak in English to Sid to take cheap shots about Sid’s game and his ass, and only get more encouraged the redder Sid’s face gets or the harder he laughs. 

It doesn’t make him feel as good as getting his dick sucked does, but it’s a close second. It makes him feel young, like he’s just another one of the guys. Kuznetsov slides him a shot of vodka across the table and says, “try not to fall asleep, Crosby,” before knocking back two of his own. 

He can feel his face burn with the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes as he shoots it and flips off the whole table. The rest of them laugh and then they start talking in machine gun, rapid fire Russian like they’re spitting bullets at each other. After a minute, Alex turns to him from a few seats down and yells, “Croz, anything you don’t wanna eat? We doin’ small plates!” 

Sid shrugs. “Surprise me!” 

Alex goes back to yelling at the other guys for several more minutes until a waitress comes around to take their order with a preemptive tray of more shots. When she hands one to Sid, she winks, and Sid can feel himself blush down to the collar of his lucky shirt. When he turns back to the table, he can see Geno directly across from him, watching him, holding his own shot glass. They nod their heads in a quiet toast and there goes the second, down the hatch. It’s been maybe five minutes since Sid sat down. 

The food comes after the fourth shot and a pint and a half of beer. Sid feels like he’s comfortably pacing himself against the others, who have tried to goad him into more and are several drinks ahead. At one point Geno came over to his side of the table and tried to feed him one when he wouldn’t take it, and Sid had said through wild laughter, “I _will_ throw up in your stupid sports car if you make me,” to the delight of Orlov and Kuznetsov. 

The food and a killer metabolism don’t stop him from getting drunk though. If he weren’t a professional athlete, Sid would probably be legally dead. He texts Anna under the table after he keeps the whole group from rolling out to go dancing by ordering several desserts: **I** **’m drunk. The Russians got me drunk.**

She texts him back a winky face with two kisses, and **_Big Trouble!_** then a Boomerang of her waving a rose gold vibrator with a suction cup base from her living room couch. So, she’s having plenty of fun too. He almost groans out loud, swiping the picture closed instantly. Good for her. He tries not to think about how far away December is, how good it’ll be to get off with her in person again and feel her body all warm and wet and smooth in his hands.

He puts his phone face-down on the table when the desserts come by. Sid eats most of them by himself while Alex switches seats with Orlov to help him, and translates some weird story that Kuznetsov is telling about the Chelyabinsk mascot being the one to kidnap his wife at their wedding. 

Everyone boos Sid and Alex again when they refuse to pay the bill. Sid shakes his head, trying to down the last of his beer with one hand while he pushes the tab away. “You boys can dine on my dime the next time you can beat us, okay? In Pittsburgh.” 

“You _suck_ , Crosby,” Kuznetsov says, but he looks more excited about his English insult than he looks put out about paying the bill. They’re all fucking millionaires. He drags the tab back across the table to fit in with his own check. “You’re buying all drinks when we go to club.”

“I think I’ll get an Uber or something back to the hotel, actually,” Sid says. 

He’s been thinking about going back and having a luxurious, half-drunk jerk off session ever since Anna sent him a flirty boomerang. Sometimes when they’re both alone and horny they’ll spend half a night sending each other snaps or pics while getting off, one-upping each other until Sid’s got three fingers in his ass and Anna’s soaked through her bedsheets, pussy tight around some huge toy. In the summer she sent Sid a picture of the wet spot that said _**this is where my husband will sleep**_ , and Sid was so overwhelmed by the implications that he came too loud, orgasm ripped out of him like it was torn up his windpipe.

“What? No, you coming with,” Alex says. “C’mon, buddy, good luck shirt, right? You gotta go. We can leave early like, they never notice, still pay bar tab or whatever.”

“We know English, idiot,” Orlov says, but Alex waves him off. 

“It’s not even midnight. Your lady’s not here. You _not_ very drunk.” The way Alex said the last part was like it was the most offensive of the three. “C’mon, you gotta come out.” 

Sid sighs and blinks up at the ceiling. “Fine. Fine. Let’s go. I hate you. I’m not paying for shit.”

“Okay, _light weight_ ,” Orlov replies, punching him too hard in the shoulder, before they all collectively stumble out into the night together.

Instead of calling a cab, Geno ushers Sid and Alex back to his car. It isn’t the wisest idea, and Sid says as such, but he’s fuzzy enough to slide back into the tiny ass front seat without much of a fight, especially with Alex willing to tuck himself in the back. It feels easier this time, alcohol loosening him up, making him less aware of how tight the space is, and less caring of how Geno’s hand is firm against his thigh on the stick shift the whole time they drive from the restaurant to the club. There isn’t anything weird about it, or suspicious-- it’s a tiny car, and hey, they’re all athletes, used to being touched and manhandled every which way. Alex has his head sticking between their seats, yelling something in Russian over the loud electronic disco that Geno is blasting, and Sid is sure that whatever he’s saying has nothing to do with Sid’s thighs spreading apart a little wider, chasing the the tight press of Geno’s knuckles through his denim.

When the club, and the line leading in, appears in their line of sight, Alex yells, “ _y_ _eah Sid, we going dancing!_ ” right in his ear, like Sid hasn’t gone out with him literally a hundred times in the decade-plus they’ve played together. They park the car a few blocks away in a spot Sid’s ninety-percent sure is illegal. Kuznetsov and Orlov park a half-block up and are crossing to meet them, and as soon as Sid gets out of the car, Alex is stumbling out after him to greet them in the middle of the street.

“He is like, three drinks away from begging me to go to Moscow with him for a real ‘discotheque experience’ or whatever,” Sid says conspiratorially to Geno, who seems to know exactly what he means. 

“He beg me every summer,” Geno replies. “Always ‘come out, come dance, come to Moscow, see Moscow club!’ Like, Sid, I live in Moscow. I’m _there_.”

Sid laughs and elbows Geno. “That’s a good impression.” 

“Some nights he texts me like, ‘where you at, Zhenya?’ and I’m at like, same fucking table,” Geno continues. “He’s like, most annoying friend.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, looking up at Geno only to be winded by Geno’s sideways, soft smile. Geno looks at Sid like it’s important that Sid thinks he’s funny, that Sid understands him. Geno looks at Sid like he’s trying to show off, and his face asks, _is it working? Did you like that? Do you like me?_

Sid does. He sways forward to bump their hips together, hands in his own pockets. Geno’s smile spreads across the rest of his face. In the middle of the street Alex yells, “ _lets get LA-A-A-I-D_ ,” jumping on Kuznetsov’s back for a piggy back ride toward the club.

They bypass the line for the club, Alex riding on Kuznetsov all the way to the VIP section behind the DJ booth, where they’re greeted by a pre-arranged bottle service, which means more shots. The toast is incoherent-- they’re all yelling, and Sid is just laughing at the sight of them all, their hockey smiles, their terrible jeans, their weights all shifting from side to side without really meaning to. Alex gets a lime wedge in the gap where his middle tooth used to be and tries to convince Sid to do body shots with him, and Sid fucking keels over laughing instead, waving him over to the others. 

He’s still committed to getting home early enough to catch Anna if he can, maybe Irish goodbye in twenty minutes when they all get too distracted enough to keep track of him. He’s horny-- he’s horny, and he’s been looking at Geno, his eyes getting easier with every fucking shot, and he doesn’t want to get himself in trouble. He just wants to beat off like he planned to ever since Anna said she was in Florida and he decided he probably wasn’t going to get laid on this trip.

He sits in the back half circle of their VIP table, thumb idly running around the rim of his empty shot glass as Alex tries to assault Orlov with the lime wedge in his teeth. He’s surprised when Geno sits down next to him, easy as anything, and puts an arm over Sid’s shoulder companionably. 

“My team is like, all idiots,” Geno says, leaning in so Sid can hear him over the music. Sid’s face scrunches up on its own accord in a laugh. 

“Not us though, huh?” He shouts back, twisting around so they’re ear-to-mouth, ear-to-mouth, Sid leaning into the stretch of Geno’s arm. “Someone’s gotta take care of them.”

There Geno is again, in the corner of Sid’s eye, his mouth stretching into a wide smile across his face in a way that Sid can secretly enjoy if he doesn’t focus on it. Geno nods, leaning in even closer. “You want ‘nother shot?”

“For real?” When Geno nods like, _obviously_ , Sid throws his head back, laughing too hard. He slaps a hand on Geno’s thigh, but then lets it stay there. He’s drunk. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Geno shrugs like he means _yes_ , but he says, “Not my fault you can’t drink.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Sid nudges him in the side a little, keeping in his space. He’s too turned on for another drink, thinking about Anna all by herself on that couch in Miami, feeling the warm heat of Geno against him on a couch under dozens of blue lights and pretending it means something. But he wants it, like maybe another shot will be what keeps him right here on the cliff’s edge of desperation until he can get back to the hotel and take care of business. “Maybe one.” 

Geno leans toward the table without leaving his one arm over Sid’s shoulders, snagging the ice-fogged bottle of Grey Goose around the neck, and a spare shot glass with his pinky. He pours them both shots carefully, long knobby fingers, _soft hands_ , Sid thinks, all the precision and determination of Geno’s game going into getting absolutely shitfaced. He squeezes Geno’s thigh where his hand still rests, and Geno doesn’t react. They shoot back their Grey Goose after a quick clink together.

Immediately after, Alex tries to get him to dance. So does Kuznetsov. The two of them with Orlov all take turns doing embarrassing things with their hips and arms in the booth before they slide out to the larger floor, but Geno doesn’t go with them. He stays right where he is, seemingly content, and Sid briefly thinks of excusing himself to bail, but ends up not moving. Where Alex is an affectionate dog, Geno is like a cat, sparing with his affection, choosing who he spends his time with and they should be so grateful. 

“You know,” Sid says, probably leaning back too far into Geno’s space to talk into his ear, their booze breath mingling, “it was fun last year when we got to play together at the All-Star Game. I don’t think I said that last time I saw you.”

Geno squints down at him, processing what he said before making a face. “Yeah, All-Star Game is always fun.” 

“Yeah but”--Sid can feel his own smile grow despite himself, like it’s being teased out of him, and he hates how he has to shout so loud for just Geno to hear him that it feels like everyone else can hear him too, and wow, that last shot is catching up to him--”playing with you, specifically. You know? I think about it. Like, you were first overall, right, 2004? Which, you’re so good, it makes sense. But it made me think, if you had been second, we would probably be on the same team. You ever think about that?” 

Geno squints again, and Sid is almost positive he just yelled a bunch of half-drunk shit at Geno that someone fluent in English probably wouldn’t understand, but then Geno nods slowly. He ducks forward, forehead pressed against Sid’s crown, mouth practically against Sid’s cheek, saying, “I think I know you mean--if I’m Penguin?”

Sid doesn’t dare move his head, because Geno’s mouth is right _there_ , and that’s a fast track to doing something stupid. He nods, eyes ahead, yelling louder, “Yeah, if we were both Penguins! If you were a Penguin.”

Geno shifts right to left in his seat, staring at the stairs to the mouth of their half-circle booth, where they’re tucked away from people at eye level, and beyond where the others have disappeared into the lights and fog. Then he leans in closer to Sid, and curls his arm draped over Sid’s shoulder up to dig his fingers into the hair at Sid’s nape. 

“I think if I’m Penguin,” he says--and that’s when Sid can tell he’s in the corner of Geno’s eye too, right where he’s kept Geno all night, and Geno’s looking at his mouth--”I think maybe I come here earlier.”

Sid breathes in heavy through his nose but they don’t move away from each other. Maybe if people pass it just looks like they’re still talking over the loud music. Sid doesn’t fucking know, and he doesn’t have the inhibition to really care. Geno’s fingers are playing up into his hair, but he isn’t reacting. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“I like winning,” Geno replies, curling his hand into a fist and dragging the rough edges of his nails down Sid’s neck, parallel to his spine right where it makes him shiver. “If I’m thinking I’m playing with you, maybe I can’t resist, you know? I wanna win so bad. Maybe I think, oh we play together, I win with him, so easy.”

His touches have to be intentional, the way he crowds against Sid has to be intentional, Sid thinks. He rolls his neck to the side to greet the dull scratch of Geno’s nails and get a good look at him. “Anything else you think about me?” 

Geno blinks slowly and doesn’t respond, but he keeps tracing patterns into Sid’s skin. They’re still alone. They’ve had enough to drink that anything said here and now could be waved off as a joke or confusion tomorrow, another question lost in translation. The bass around them is vibrating hard enough to rattle all the fake teeth out of Sid’s skull, and he’s still so fucking keyed up, closer to the edge than he ever was before.

So he says, “We could just fucking get out of here. You think about that?”

Geno leans forward again, presumably looking for the others, and after a beat he nods his head toward the exit. He doesn’t even answer, but he obviously means _yes_. When he stands, Sid follows. 

Sid doesn’t waste his time thinking about who in the league is down with sucking cock, but if he did, Geno definitely wouldn’t make the short list. Sid’s not even sure he would make the long list. He’s not even one hundred percent that Geno is on the same page even now. He could just be calling Sid a cab, or an Uber, making sure he gets back to his hotel safely. 

They make it outside, where it’s easily twenty degrees cooler and sobering, and Geno’s quietly walking them back both to his car. Maybe he thinks he’s gonna drive Sid home, which just shouldn’t happen, considering they’re both more alcohol than blood right now. 

“Hey, what are you, you’re not driving, right?” Sid asks, when they round the corner to see Geno’s car and he takes the key fob out to unlock it, red tail lights blinking twice.

“I’m fine,” Geno replies, rounding the vehicle to get in the driver’s seat. He makes it look easy, like a magic trick where he makes seven entire inches disappear off his height so he can gracefully fit in the thing. Sid pulls open the passenger door with a lot less finesse. 

“This isn’t safe,” he says, ducking in on one knee. “We’ve been drinking.” 

Geno gives him a _no shit_ look, but he hasn’t started the engine yet. “I’m good driver.”

Sid isn’t willing to fight him on that, because there’s a definite difference of opinion. “I don’t give a shit. What if you get distracted?”

“Like how?” Geno asks, tone a little impatient and snotty, like it’s a fucking challenge. Sid’s happy to accept. He grips the passenger seat headrest with one hand to lean in further and get his other hand right where he wants it, on the thick outline of Geno’s half hard dick snug in his own jeans. Geno inhales sharply and when he exhales, a tiny, back of the throat groan escapes between his teeth. 

“What do you think, bud?” Sid almost laughs. He’s too drunk to be nervous, and the way Geno’s eyelashes fluttered just now make him think he might be on the right track. “Are we doing this or not? Because the second I’m alone with you, I don’t think I can keep my hands to myself. So, I don’t really know how you can drive me anywhere right now.”

Geno sighs after a beat and nods, gets out his phone and calls for an Uber. When they get a chime that one is coming, he turns his phone screen for Sid to see: two minutes until pick up. “You happy?” 

“Yeah,” Sid says, a little shaky, a little excited, and then he leans in the rest of the way to kiss Geno, sneaker soles scraping up the curb as Geno practically pulls him in from there, hands balled up at Sid’s shirt collar. He’s a sloppy kisser, but there’s something to be said for the enthusiasm. 

Geno’s phone chimes again, and they snap apart almost as quick as they came together, Sid’s shoulder hitting Geno’s steering wheel and setting off the horn. He deflates, laughing, as Geno finally gets out of the driver’s seat to look for where their driver is rounding the corner. 

The driver doesn’t recognize either of them, thank god. He calls Geno “Yev-genny,” and asks them about their night, if they’re from here, if they’re college students. Sid mostly answers with distinct non-answers, tries not to sound too hammered, and only realizes that Geno sent them back to his actual house instead of the hotel when they pull up to the gate. He gets out and pulls up Maps on his phone to discover, with the driver’s tail lights disappearing over a hill and the sound of Geno opening the side gate, that they’re not even in D.C. anymore.

“Are we in _Arlington_?” Sid asks, zooming out on his phone and staring up at Geno.

“Yeah,” Geno replies casually. “You coming?”

Sid didn’t go all this way for nothing. He’ll have to figure out the best way to get back to the hotel in time to make the bus later. He jogs up to the gate and follows Geno up the walkway to a small mansion already lit up and welcoming, waiting. 

“Is there someone else here?” Sid asks, going up the brick steps to the front door and looking at the large archways above them, the chandeliers sparkling through the domed, ceiling-high windows. 

“No.” Geno unlocks the door and Sid follows him past the threshold. He takes off his shoes out of habit, leaning against the front door to close it, and finds himself caught in Geno’s direct line of sight. “Just me. You.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Sid licks his lips. “Guess we don’t have to keep it down, huh?” 

Geno starts unbuttoning his own shirt. “You loud guy, Sid?” 

“Depends,” Sid says, waiting. “I can be.”

“Good.” Geno pulls his button-up off and throws it over an umbrella stand, then tugs his undershirt off overhead to expose his torso, naked from the waist up except for the chain around his neck. He’s got a small stretch of soft underbelly that makes Sid feel like a predator. He takes a step forward, hungry.

He stops pretending to look anywhere else but Geno after that. He doesn’t look at Geno’s foyer or the pictures lining the hallways they stumble down, doesn’t take in a goddamn thing except for Geno. As soon as Sid takes that step forward and has his thumbs slide down the V of Geno’s bony hips to get his pants unbuttoned as fast as possible, gets him naked standing right there on the fucking welcome mat, kissing him messily enough to get beard burn all across his upper lip until Geno starts tugging at his own clothes and encouraging him to do the same, that just becomes the beginning and end of Sid’s entire world. 

They wind up in Geno’s huge fucking master suite bed, Geno bent over on his stomach letting Sid spread his asshole open hot and easy like Geno was just ready to get fucked open. For as much to drink as Sid’s had, it takes him an embarrassingly short time to get off, but he’s still keyed up and he ends up grunting, “turn over, turn over,” while peeling the condom off his dick to toss haphazardly at the corner before getting to his knees. 

It’s been a few years since he’s had a cock in his mouth, but he welcomes the sensation like an old friend. He thought he was gay briefly in juniors when he discovered he liked blowing dudes, so much so that for a while he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. There was a kind of power there, holding a man hot and hard in his mouth, tasting the way they would leak uncontrollably at the back of his tongue. While it’s been easier to sleep with women as he’s gotten older, and while sleeping with women has its own perks, there’s nothing like the taste of a dick in his mouth or the noises of another man completely unravelling underneath him. He misses it a lot, and it takes every ounce of willpower to savor Geno in the moment, long limbs squirming underneath him, cursing Sid with his crooked, cocky mouth. 

Geno has the decency to kiss him after he comes on Sid’s face, and like a real romantic he grabs Sid a towel from the ensuite bathroom to clean himself up. 

“You wanna stay the night?” He asks, fingers tracing along Sid’s scalp as he walks past to crawl back into bed still naked. He rolls over once he’s kicked off his comforter to look back down where Sid is still kneeling on the floor.

“I should go,” Sid says, even though he’s fucking wiped. “How far away is the Four Seasons?”

“If you set alarm for early, I’ll drive. It’s no problem, gotta go to rink anyway.”

Sid props himself up to rest his chin on the mattress by Geno’s face. “You left your car downtown, remember?”

Geno rolls his eyes. “Sid, I’m have like, seven cars, it’s not big deal. I’m make equipment guy or whoever pick other car up tomorrow.”

Sid laughs and Geno smiles back at him, pleased with himself, and Sid can’t _not_ kiss him. 

“Okay, scoot over, you convinced me,” he says, and reaches for the tangled heap of jeans on the floor where his phone is. There are several missed messages and calls from Alex, and a couple from Anna too. God, Anna. He’s going to remember every detail of tonight to tease her, tell her all about the guy he held down and fucked, the dick he sucked because he missed her so bad, and then ask her if she ever gets jealous too. “Is six too early?” 

Geno groans. “Yes.”

“Too bad, alarm set for six.” He finds the light switch near the room’s French doors and turns the overhead off, letting the lights still on in the hallway help guide him back to the bed. Geno has his arms open and waiting, ready to tug him in as soon as Sid gets close enough. 

“Fun tonight,” Geno says, kissing his temple. “Nice of you to join.”

“Thank Alex,” Sid replies, closing his eyes.

Geno snorts, rolling them both so they’re on their sides and he can act as the big spoon. He whispers into the nape of Sid’s neck, “ _never_.”

* * *

For all of Geno’s bitching, he’s out of bed by the time Sid’s alarm goes off. He’s even freshly showered, hair still wet, in a pair of boxers brushing his teeth. Sid can see him standing in the ensuite where he left the door open, right behind the bedside table where Sid put his phone. 

“I can’t believe you’re awake,” he groans, grabbing at his phone to turn it off. He’s tempting to snooze for another five minutes, but he rubs at his eyes and scoots up to turn on the lamp and force himself up.

“You snore,” Geno calls over his shoulder, mouth full of foam and spit.

“Oh buddy, same,” Sid replies. He still slept for a good part of the night, and even better he doesn’t feel too hungover, although he’s worried that just means he’s still drunk. “How long until you’re ready to go?” 

“Gimme twenty minutes,” Geno says, and Sid looks back down at his phone, considering setting an alarm for another ten. 

That’s when he notices it: the picture frame on the table. It looks like a professional magazine shoot but it’s Geno and a woman who looks way too much like Anna for comfort. 

“G,” he says again, grabbing the frame and bringing it closer. It’s definitely Anna. Five thousand percent. “Is this your sister?” 

Geno spits in the sink and finally turns around, giving Sid a puzzled look. “What? No, it’s my wife.”

Sid glances up at Geno from over the top of the bedside bronze picture frame, holding it in place with his thumb right next to Anna’s smiling face. The recognition sinks in and weighs him back down into the mattress. The pieces of a puzzle he’s avoided putting together have fallen into place.

He’s been _fucking Geno Malkin’s wife._

He just _fucked Anna’s husband._

“You not know that?” Geno asks. He sounds every bit delighted as Sid feels horrified. “That’s Anna. We’re together like, almost three years.”

“I didn’t know,” Sid says, feeling stupid, because what the fuck else do you say? “Sorry.”

“You want sweatpants, shirt or anything?” Geno asks, moving onto the closet.

Sid hasn’t stopped looking at the picture. Geno and Anna are married. The last time Alex dragged him out to party with the Russians he had met Anna, and that was because Anna was probably there with Geno. He’d taken her back to his hotel, sneaking out without saying goodbye the same as he had last night. She’d tried to bring him home, told him _my husband and I are open, it could be fun surprise_ , and he’d said, _no, but you can tell him about it later if that’s your thing_ , because he’d thought there was a smaller chance of getting murdered that way. And oh shit, does Geno know? He doesn’t act like he knows. Sid is such a fucking idiot. “No uh, same clothes is fine. I’ll get dressed now.”

The only break Sid gets from freaking out is in Geno’s garage, where it turns out every other car he owns is an SUV. “You seriously made us drive around in that Porsche last night when you have a Range Rover?”

“Yeah, because Porsche is best,” Geno says like it’s obvious. “Get in.” 

The drive is quiet and relatively painless. The traffic isn’t a complete nightmare and Geno doesn’t play any disco electronica, and Alex’s knee isn’t digging into Sid’s back, and they pull into the hotel roundabout before seven. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Sid says, still feeling mortified. “And the uh, night.”

“It’s good time.” Geno smiles at him, too open for Sid to handle. “Not cheap date, but fun. Next time we kick your ass and you pay, right?” 

“Right,” Sid says. “Well, I’m gonna try to crash for another hour, so uh, later.” 

Geno drives off without saying goodbye as soon as Sid climbs out of the car and shuts the door. Sid goes back up to his room, resets his alarm for eight, and falls face first down onto his bed. He doesn’t fall back to sleep.

* * *

Sid isn’t sure where to go from here. For the past year, Anna has been the perfect level of commitment for a friend-with-benefits: long distance, marathon sex meet-ups every two-to-three months, regular sexts, and her open marriage with another man has kept Sid from feeling like complete garbage about it while never having to worry too much about things getting too serious or being exclusive. And it’s not to say he doesn’t have feelings for her, because outside of being a walking wet dream, he’s learned that she’s whip smart and funny and actually kind of weird after they decided to stay in touch. And yeah, maybe the imaginary husband he thought up for her was a little unfair, but he liked to think he was providing something that she wasn’t getting elsewhere. That clearly isn’t the case. 

If he texted her to let her know he accidentally may have fucked her husband, to her credit, she might think it's hilarious-- if she didn’t know already. _Fuck_. He drags a hand over his face just in time for Alex to board the bus and catch sight of him.

“You hangover, man? Where’d you go last night?” He asks entirely too loud, sliding into the seat across from Sid, unable to take a single social cue to save his life. “You totally disappear!” 

“I had to go to bed, Alex, it was late,” he replies, which isn’t a complete lie. 

Alex gives him a disbelieving look that probably has something to do with the fact that Sid looks like complete shit. “Really?” 

He snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, really.”

“Okay, well at least answer my texts next time, let me know and don’t be big asshole, okay? Zhenya leave early too but his car’s still downtown and everyone was like, real fucking worried.” 

“That’s fair.” Sid sighs. “You’re right, man. My bad. I was just exhausted. I’ll let you know next time if I leave.”

“Good,” Alex says, with a too-wide, forgiving smile. “ _Next time_.”

The team gets to New Jersey early enough for a practice, where Sid definitely can smell the vodka sweats rolling off him as he skates, and is too distracted trying not to puke and avoid Mike’s judgmental gaze to really think about Anna or Geno. He’s exhausted enough after lunch that he doesn’t have the time to think a single thought between hitting his hotel bed for an afternoon nap and actually falling asleep. It’s a routine to keep his phone on airplane mode on game days, which further reduces any reminders of whose husband he fucked last night and keeps any unnameable feelings he’s having at bay until much, much later.

When he turns back on and sees the messages start to roll in, everything starts to catch up with him. There are a few from Anna, mostly g-rated pictures of local Florida wildlife, a video she took while driving over a bridge, and a picture of her poolside with friends. There are two unopened snaps from last night that are decidedly less g-rated. There’s a message from this morning that says: **Did you survive big bad Russians?**

He can hear her voice, deep and teasing, when he reads it. 

There are no mentions of Geno. He wonders what she knows. He wonders what they tell each other. She knows what Sid does for a living, so there has to be an element of knowing there, he thinks, now more than ever.

He texts her: **survived.**

She writes back: **WOW!!!! Alive ))))**

He sighs and doesn’t say anything else. He’s not going to say anything about Geno. Something about it feels like a betrayal, but he can’t figure out the words as to why.

* * *

In the week that follows he continues to obsess about it, and he’s pretty sure he figures it out: For someone like himself to be so dead set on uncomplicated, casual relationships, it has to be pretty dumb for him to want them both. Because the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks about Geno, who wants Sid to like him so inexplicably much for someone on a rival team, who tries to impress him with his stupid, tiny sports car, who likes to cuddle after a one night stand and has an ass the Ancient Greeks would have probably written poems about. 

Whatever happened with Geno, he realizes, he wants to happen again. And he realizes that if he tells Anna, he’s afraid it might not. And it clearly goes the other way. However open their relationship is, he isn’t sure if they’re down to share. And what if he loses them both? What if they suddenly hate him because somehow, he was supposed to know? 

It’s a stupid, selfish fear, and it’s wrong, but by the time he puts words to it he’s then afraid that it’s been too long for him to say anything without coming across like he was purposefully hiding something. So he spends another week freaking out, thinking about it more, texting Anna and jerking off to the memory of them both while feeling like a complete asshole. 

December arrives quicker than ever. Anna tells him she has dinner reservations for them the night after they play in Miami, and Sid decides, firmly, that will be when he tells her and if she decides to end things between them, or she tells Geno and he decides either of them should end between them, then that’s how it will just have to go. 

He buys Anna a pair of earrings the week before, similar to the one he helped her find in the dark the night they first met. They’ll be something to remember him by, maybe, or something she regifts to a friend so she’ll never think about him again. He puts the gift box in his coat pocket, which he keeps folded in his lap the entire flight down to Florida, slipping his hand inside to hold it while he rests his forehead against the window and stares down at the clouds. 

They beat the Panthers that night pretty handily. When Sid gets back to the hotel room, he puts on his usual black jeans and his lucky black going out shirt. Depending on how dinner goes, maybe he’ll finally have to find a new outfit. 

The reservations are under Anna’s maiden name, and when he says it out loud to the hostess, he thinks to himself, _really, how could I have known?_ Google, probably, but he’s not a fucking creep. His stomach flops as she leads him to the table, and feels nervously for the jewelry box in his pocket. 

Anna’s already at the table, looking beautiful, waiting. 

Geno Malkin is also at the table. 

Sid nearly trips over himself. 

“Hi Sid,” Anna says sweetly.

“Hey, uh,” Sid says breathily, turning from her to Geno. “Hi, why are you here?”

Geno has the decency to look offended. “I live here.” 

“No, I mean, well, I guess I knew that. I should have put that together. Shit, I meant, don’t you play Buffalo tomorrow?” Sid puts his own jacket over the back of his chair and sits down, gulping past the heart beating thick in his throat.

“Yes, is tomorrow,” Geno replies, like this is totally normal. “No game tonight.” 

“Got it, got it. Well.” He feels so fucking stupid. “I guess you guys uh, you know, huh.”

Geno snorts. “Yeah, of course we know.”

Anna leans in, resting her chin delicately on her hand, and asks teasingly, “Did you not want us to know, Sidney?” 

He looks back and forth between them, then up to the ceiling like guidance will be written there for him somehow. There’s nothing. He sighs. “No, no, I did. I did, I swear. _I_ didn’t know. I didn’t know how to ask--I didn’t know what to say, and”--he burns, feeling embarrassed, as they watch him like two circling sharks, smiles getting bigger--”I mean, wait, how long have you known?” 

“Sid,” Anna laughs, “I text Zhenya while you drive me back to your hotel room last year.”

“Are you serious?” Anna laughs even louder and claps her hands. When Sid looks at Geno, he’s smiling smugly over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh my God.” 

“He thinks it’s so hot, Sid,” Anna tells him, like a secret. “We both do.”

“Oh my God,” Sid says again. “This entire time?”

“At first I think Zhenya just think it’s hot when I tell him, he gets off when I send you pictures.” Sid needs a fucking drink. Geno is _laughing_ at him into his wine. “But then I think he’s little bit jealous.” 

“I’m _very_ jealous,” Geno confirms. “I’m thinking Sidney Crosby is hot for _years_.”

Sid has already fucked them both so it’s not like he thinks they’re lying to him, but at face value it’s still pretty hard to believe and the furthest thing from what he expected. 

“I gave him permission,” Anna continues, then sighs. “But you never tell me, Sid--was he good?” 

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I promise I was going to,” Sid says, still trying to wrap his brain around the _everything_ of the situation. Neither of them look mad at him. In fact, they both look pretty interested. He swallows. “It was, uh, he was good. Really good.”

“Good.” Anna smiles at them both approvingly. She continues to trace the rim of her wine glass with a finger. “So, what you think, maybe both of us? Would you like both of us?” 

As if he hasn’t been consumed by what he thought were his own selfish wants for the past month. He doesn’t even think about it, he just says, “Yeah. Yes,” and looks at them both and then says, “Now?” 

* * *

They order and eat dinner first, because Sid is still hungrier than he is horny after twenty minutes of ice time. They’re patient with him through the whole meal, and what could have been awkward, heavy silence between them is instead a fun, light conversation with two people whose company he’s grown to enjoy. He gives Anna the earrings he bought her, and Geno leans in and asks, _what you get for me, Sid?_ , and Sid says, _well, how about I buy you a drink?_ , which makes Geno smile back at him a mile wide. And then, after their plates are cleared, and Sid scribbles his name on the signature line, he flips closed the billfold and asks, “so, what’s next?”

Despite his smart comment about living here, Geno’s staying in another hotel in the city for the night, because it turns out he and Anna actually own property on an island. It’s a different hotel than the league usually gets for the players, but close enough for Sid to sneak back to his own room early enough in the morning. Sid sits in the backseat as Geno drives them all there, techno music once again loud, Anna with her window rolled down and hair blowing in the wind, taking a video of the passing cityscape like the ones she always sends Sid. 

Geno hands him a keycard with a room number once they park. “Go up first, we’ll follow like, five minutes, okay?” 

Sid takes it with a steady hand and licks his lips. He can’t believe he’s doing this. His mind is absolutely directionless, empty except for the loud, heavy want that overwhelms everything else. “Sounds good.” 

The suite Geno’s renting is huge and feels luxuriously private. Sid kicks off his shoes first and starts to unbutton his shirt as he walks through two rooms before finding the bedroom with a large, windowed wall that looks out over the bright silhouette of the city and endless dark water. He briefly thinks of what it would be like to have Anna pressed tits up against the glass, his hands lifting up one of her impossibly long legs for easy access while he fucks her for the entire world to see, Geno hot and huge behind him. It makes him shiver, because it’s right there for him to have, something that should be crazy and impossible.

He lets his shirt drop to the floor, tugs his belt off, and then kicks his jeans off after as he walks over the bed, peeling his socks off one by one to throw with the rest of his discarded clothing. They didn’t talk about what they were doing at all on the drive over, but he’s got a few of his own ideas, and he’s pretty easy. Both Geno and Anna know that by now, at least. 

He hears the open and close of the hotel door less than a minute later, and he’s already hard in his briefs, laying on his back and idly palming himself. Anna finds him first, humming when she sees him. “Bed already, Sidney? So boring.”

It doesn’t stop her from climbing on top of him, dropping the heels in her hand to the floor so she can straddle his waist and dip in low for a kiss. God, he’s missed kissing her. She’s good at taking her time, teasing his mouth open while her hair falls around the both of them like she’s curtaining them in. When she pulls away with a final peck, she looks down on him with the same smug, satisfied look that Geno gets. “Hi.”

“Hey you,” he says, watching the way she drags her hands from his chest to the elastic band of his briefs like she’s an actual dream he’s having. 

She turns over her shoulder and calls for Geno, saying something in Russian. He can hear a response in kind, and then footsteps a moment letter as Geno comes through into the bedroom. Geno hands Anna a hair tie and then flops next to Sid on the bed while Anna gathers her hair up into a ponytail. 

“What I miss?” He asks Sid with a little tilt of his chin. 

“I think we’re just getting started,” Sid replies, turning his head to look at him and enjoy him fully, not tucked away in his peripheral vision. Geno smiles and gets one of his big hands on Sid’s face to pull him in for a kiss, much more sober than their first, but just as sloppy, until Sid laughs and says, “wait, are you still wearing your shoes?” 

Geno grunts against his mouth and Sid can hear him kick his shoes off one by one, and then they’re kissing again until the sound of Anna unzipping her dress distracts them both. 

“You need help with that, babe?” Sid asks, shifting himself up on his elbows until he’s sitting with her in his lap, and he can reach around to finish unzipping her. Her straps fall down her shoulders to reveal a strapless bra, which Sid has mastered the one-hand unsnap technique to get her out of as quickly as possible.

“Show off,” Geno says from where he’s still laying back, watching both of them. 

Sid doesn’t pay attention to him, instead pressing a kiss to Anna’s collarbone, the pulse point in her neck, her jaw. “So, does he like to watch? What’s the plan here?” 

Anna turns to Geno. “Zhenya, you want watch? Take turn?”

“I can watch a little,” Geno replies, casually undoing his own pants. “But not too long.”

Anna’s dress is pooled around her waist, and when Sid runs his hands up her thighs he can feel the thinnest lace strap of her thong. He gets his hands under her ass with every intent to pull her in as close as he can get. He misses being inside her so bad. He kisses her ear. “Hey, wanna get me out?”

She returns her attention to him and reaches down between the opening of his briefs to tug his dick out, and as soon as she does, he lifts her up by the ass and forward, cupping his hands from underneath her so he can pull her panties to the side and settle her pussy right there where his head is and feel her. He can tell she’s dripping wet and he’s not even inside her yet, and it’s almost agonizing to feel how they slip together as she rocks her hips in his grip until she finally sinks down on him.

“Oh, god,” he groans against the warmth of her. “You always feel so amazing, Anna.”

She teases him, still rocking back and forth slow in his lap. “Sid, remember the last time like this? You were in Washington for playoffs in Spring. We do just like this, remember?”

“Yeah.” He does, remembers her coming over to his hotel after the Penguins had lost their first of three away. She had ridden him for an hour and made him come twice like that, and she had felt impossibly slick the second time already full of him. “It was so good.”

“I went home that night,” she says, kissing him once and then turning to look at Geno, who has his dick out in his hand, eyes on the both of them. “Zhenya was still awake. He let me sit on his face. He licked me clean.”

Her words are like a straight hit to the solar plexus, and he makes an agonized, guttural noise. 

“Did you like how Sid tastes, Zhenya?” Anna asks him, her tone a mix of mean and tender. “Do you want to taste him like that again?” 

Sid twists to see Geno is biting his lip, nodding dumbly back up at them as he continues to jerk himself off sluggishly slow, his fat cockhead disappearing behind his fist and foreskin. Sid thinks about how his dick filled up his mouth the last time they were together and knows he wants to taste Geno again too. 

“Give Zhenya what he wants, Sid,” Anna says, turning her own brand of cruel sweetness on him, and Sid doesn’t hesitate to comply. He shifts to get his arms up and around her, holding her tight against him so he can fuck up into her hard and rough. Anna makes the most unreal moans, punched out of her with every thrust, abandoning any illusion of her being completely in control herself. The noises she makes always drive Sid crazy and get him right where he needs to go. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and cries, breath hot against his ear, cries, “you feel so good, Sid, oh, he feels so good, Zhenya, he feels so _good_.”

When he comes, he lets out another ugly moan of his own, half blind as he pumps inside her. Geno takes the opportunity to shift up for another sloppy kiss, as wet and hungry as Sid needs right now, and it’s almost like being taken care of. They both leave him panting, dizzy and fucked out so quick like he’s still a teenager. 

“Okay, Zhenya, it’s your turn,” Anna says, sliding off him and dripping across Sid’s thighs as she crawls over to Zhenya and tackles him back to the bed with a laugh. Sid can hear her whisper to him tenderly, but in English, loud enough for Sid, “You’ve been so good tonight.”

“I’m always good,” Geno replies softly. When Sid flops on his back to lay parallel to them, his breath catches in his throat to see the way Geno looks up at her, how sweetly he traces her face with his thumb. To be here with them like this, in this moment, almost feels like an intrusion.

“Sidney,” Anna says, finally turning back toward him. “Will you help me with Zhenya? No one has paid attention to him all night.”

She then glances behind her, pouting at Geno’s half hard dick hanging in mid-air, abandoned by his own hand when she climbed on top of him. 

“Yeah, I think I can do something about that,” he says, like they even have to ask. They all shift together, Zhenya moving up the bed to get them closer to the headboard, so Anna can grip onto it as she moves her thighs up to bracket his face and let him lick up into her. Sid twists around to get Geno’s dick in his mouth, welcoming the yeasty smell and salty taste like it’s his favorite dessert. 

Anna takes her time with Geno, clearly determined to get off and make a mess of him, so Sid paces himself as well. He lets himself be curious, choking on Geno as deep as he can to get his mouth wet enough to just tease every inch of his length with his tongue pressed flat. He noses at Geno’s balls and pinches the insides of his thighs, silently coaxing Geno to shift his legs so Sid can get one hand down to at least massage his asshole with the pad of his thumb while still sucking Geno off. 

He ends up half hard again and distracted, just watching Anna’s back and cute ass rock while she rides Geno’s face. He’s almost absently squeezing at Geno’s dick, foreskin pulled back and head just resting on Sid’s tongue, pushed past the corner of his wide open mouth, and doesn’t realize it’s making Geno come until he is, shooting all over Sid’s nose and mouth, on his tongue. Sid gasps like he’s been shocked, seeing how Geno grabs for Anna to push her down on his face more and smother him while he unloads all over Sid. 

“Baby,” Anna coos, leaning back to look down at Geno, “he’s so good to us, hm?”

“He’s not bad,” Sid hears Geno say, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Sid laughs.

“Not bad, huh?” He crawls up to the head of the bed to join them, and Geno gives him a sideways smile, face absolutely rubbed raw and gleaming wet. “Oh Geez, bud, you’re a wreck. Look at you. You don’t take it easy on him, eh?”

When he looks up at Anna she just seems fond and proud, a little breathless. “Next time you switch places, okay?” 

Every anxiety Sid’s been feeling for the past month feels washed away when she says it, _next time_.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, taking them both in, beginning to feel something like belonging bloom heavy in his chest. “Next time.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
